


Ghosts

by Cinaed



Category: CSI: Las Vegas
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-01
Updated: 2006-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David often gets tired of fighting with a ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> The quotation comes from "Elaborate Lives" from Aida.

_(We all lead such elaborate lives, we don't know whose words are true -- strangers, lovers, husbands, wives, hard to know who's loving who.)_

David often gets tired of fighting with a ghost. After all, it’s a fight he’ll never win, no matter how hard he tries or how much time he spends tilting at this windmill, this invisible though not imaginary enemy, and that thought is wearying. 

He realizes, however, that he set himself up for this. He shouldn’t have taken Greg up on that first date, not when the other man had just broken up with Nick Stokes, Golden Boy Extraordinaire. David had known he was being used as a rebound, had known that doomed this relationship from the start, and yet he’d gone on that first date anyway, smirking at Greg’s overeager ramblings, rolling his eyes when Greg insisted on dragging him to a kung-fu movie and openly scoffing when Greg tried to pay for both tickets (they’d ended up compromising -- Greg had paid for the tickets and David had bought a ridiculous amount of snacks). He realizes this, and knows it’s his own damn fault that he’s stuck throwing punches at a memory of a relationship that crashed and burned ages ago. 

It’s little things, really, that remind David he’s just the rebound guy, even after seven months of being together. Like when Greg -- wearing a wistful smile -- comes into the room humming a tune that David couldn’t name to save his life but one he recognizes as country, and how the humming dies and the wistful smile slides off Greg’s face and is replaced by a falsely bright grin when the other man realizes David’s there. Or when they’re shopping and Greg will absently toss a bag of frozen burritos into their cart (neither of them likes burritos, although a certain Texan does), and then flush with embarrassment and put the bag back. 

Maybe most people would just shrug and brush the burrito issue off as a habit that’s difficult to get rid of, but David knows better. After all, it’s been seven months. Besides, most people who might think his obsession about the burritos is just plain paranoia wouldn’t be able to ignore the wishful little smiles Greg shoots in Nick’s direction every now and then, when he thinks David isn’t looking (eventually he’ll learn that David is _always_ looking, savoring this time while it lasts). It’s those tiny half-smiles and longing looks from beneath lowered lashes that reminds David, time and time again, that he is just the rebound guy, and that if Nick ever gets his act together and tries to get Greg back, all the Texan will have to do is snap his fingers and Greg will come running without a backwards look. 

It’s not that David _blames_ Greg. Nick is the Wonder Boy, Grissom’s pride and joy, and none -- not even David -- can resist his charms, with his sweet Southern smile and painfully earnest sincerity, and so David can’t fault Greg for falling, and falling hard, for Nick Stokes. However, David can (and does) blame Nick for getting him into this situation. If Nick hadn’t been such a closet case, then he and Greg wouldn’t have broken up, and Greg wouldn’t have asked David out, and David would never have ended up tilting at windmills. (Even now, David and Warrick are the only ones to know that there _was_ a relationship between Nick and Greg, whereas it seems like everyone in Vegas knows about David and Greg -- he sometimes suspects Greg of putting an announcement in the newspaper the day he moved into David’s apartment.) David could have easily gone through life with a tiny, insignificant crush on a certain CSI Level One that was never returned; he certainly would be grateful not to have ever had to fight the ghosts of memories like he does today. Still, while he blames the Texan, he can’t force himself to be cruel and lash out at him. Hurting Nick is like kicking someone when he’s down (because something is always there to bring Nick down, whether it’s Kristy Hopkins, or Nigel Crane, or Walter Gordon), and not even David does that. Well, all right, he does from time to time, but doing it to Nick would be like kicking a puppy, honestly. It was just pointless cruelty. 

Still, David tries to be positive for once in his life, and focuses on the good moments, like in the middle of the night, when Greg presses a sleepy kiss to his shoulder and murmurs nonsense with such affection in his voice that David almost, _almost_ forgets he’s the rebound guy, or when Greg remembers a fact that David mentioned during a tirade three weeks earlier and uses it to help solve a case. David keeps these memories like keepsakes, retaining every detail and putting them in a safely locked box in his mind, so that he can take each priceless moment out to remember and take pleasure from once this relationship crashes and burns even worse than Nick and Greg’s had. 

There are times, though, when the weariness of battling a ghost overwhelms him, and he finds words catching in the back of his throat, usually pitiful pleas to Nick to find a nice girl to settle down with, have 2.5 kids, a dog, and a white picket fence, so that David might have the possibility to become something more than just the stand-in for the Golden Boy Extraordinaire. It is those times that he swallows the words back, forces a smile or a smirk on his face (whatever the situation calls for), and gets as fucking far away from Nick as he can, because telling Nick to get a girl might have the exact opposite result to what he wants. 

And then one day, of course, the inevitable happens, and David walks by the break room to see Nick and Greg in deep discussion. This isn’t anything new, of course -- Nick and Greg are often in deep discussion over a case -- but the serious expressions on their faces and the soft, uncertain look in Nick’s eyes is. David pauses for a moment, studying the strain on Greg’s face, and the almost convulsive gestures the other man is using, and tries to ignore the way his heart has turned to stone and become lodged in his throat as he turns and walks away before either man can spot him. 

He waits for Greg to find him to tell him it’s over, hiding in his beloved trace lab and trying to distract himself with various analyses he’s supposed to be working on. The diversions don’t work very well -- David is choking on his heart when Warrick comes in, and in the end just has to shake his head and shove the paper with the details of the trace at the CSI rather than offer up a smart-ass remark. He ignores Warrick’s puzzled look, and waits until the man leaves to bury his face in his hands and fight for breath, trying to fight the nausea that is welling up. 

David doesn’t look up when the door opens again, not even when Greg curiously asks him what’s wrong. There is silence for a moment, during which David swallows and wishes his heart would drop to his feet -- at least then he could speak. Then a hand rests, light as a feather, on his shoulder, and Greg asks again what’s wrong, concern now creeping into his voice. 

His heart finally starts to sink, and it settles somewhere near his kidneys as he swallows and forces out that he saw Greg and Nick talking. He’s a coward for not lifting his head to see Greg’s reaction, but he wants to know as few details about this event as possible. 

Oh, Greg says in an entirely different tone of voice. Yeah, about that…. 

Now David does lift his head, if only to laugh a trifle scornfully. About that, he echoes, and shakes his head before he adds that he doesn’t particularly want to know about their conversation. He watches Greg’s expression shift to one of confusion, and swallows against the wave of nausea that rises up. He’s _known_ this day was coming, after all. 

Nicky was just…apologizing, Greg tells him, and David resists the urge to laugh again. How much of an idiot does Greg think he is? Of _course_ Nick had apologized. Of course he’d admitted that he was being an idiot, that he wanted Greg back, that he’d make things work this time. It was the old-fashioned way of getting back the person you loved, and by all accounts Nick Stokes was an old-fashioned soul. 

Instead of laughing though, he just bites his lower lip, struggling to settle his stomach by pure will, and settles for a neutral, Oh? 

Yes, and Greg’s hand hasn’t left his shoulder, still feather-light, and David can feel the warmth of the other man’s palm even through his lab coat. Greg’s expression is urgent now, as serious as his expression when he was talking to Nick, and David feels his heart sink another inch or so. Yeah, we talked, and he just…he just wanted to apologize for how we broke up, that’s all. 

I see, David says, and it takes every fiber of his being to make that sound nonchalant, as though his heart isn’t at that moment sinking past his kneecap, as though he can’t feel a desperate sort of heat pressing outward against his cheeks, the sensation he always gets when tears are threatening to make an unwanted appearance. David blinks rapidly, because he will be damned if he’s going to fucking _cry_ like some preteen mourning her first crush when Greg tells him he’s going back to Nick. 

And despite knowing that this day was going to come eventually, that the ghost was going to eventually win, it still hurts like hell when Greg’s face lights up and he says eagerly, Yeah, Nicky and I had a long talk. A good talk. His hand tightens on David’s shoulder, and David feels a bitter little smile touch his lips as his heart finally hits the soles of his feet. Here it comes, the final blow, and he struggles to be a man and meet Greg’s eyes, even if he feels like burying his face in his hands again. 

I was thinking maybe we could have him over next Friday, Greg says, and David frowns a little in bemusement as the CSI continues, Well, Nicky and I haven’t really hung out since, well, the break-up. You know that. 

David has the distinct impression he’s missed something here, because Greg isn’t following the script like he’s supposed to. For one, he hasn’t said that he and Nick are getting back together. David swallows, ashes on his tongue, and says, I -- I thought you and Nick talked. 

Greg raises an eyebrow, looking momentarily confused, and then grins. We did, and we’re going to try being friends outside work again. I’ve really missed having him as a friend, you know? 

Words fail David then, because his heart has suddenly leapt straight back into his throat, and he can hardly breathe as confusion dizzies him and something like hope twists in his chest. Oh, he says helplessly, and then more vehemently, _Oh._ 

And Greg is studying him, head tilted slightly to the side, a quizzical expression on his face, and his hand still resting oh-so-softly on David’s shoulder. After a moment, Greg asks, What did you think we talked about? 

But David is still speechless, feeling hope (a thing with feathers that feels like it has more talons than a thing with feathers should) fluttering around in his chest and bruising his ribcage, and all he can do is shake his head in astonishment. 

What, did you think I was going to tell you that Nicky wants me back and that I’d accepted the offer? Greg laughs, as though the ghost David has been battling for the past seven months has actually been a little kid in a pillowcase all this time, and then sobers at the expression that David knows is on his face. His eyes widen, and the hand finally retracts from David’s shoulder, the warmth lingering only for a second. Shit, you _did,_ didn’t you? 

David swallows and tries to think of something clever to say. Hell, he’d settle for a single, audible sentence right now, but nothing comes out but a haggard, crooked smile and a shrug. He tries to swallow his heart, to force it back into his chest, but it stays lodged in his throat. 

David, Greg says, and the single word is doused with tender exasperation and pure astonishment, as though Greg can’t quite believe that David would think Nick could steal him back, as though Nick isn’t the Wonder Boy and David is someone special. David, Nick and I were _horrible_ for each other. He knows that. I know that. You know it, Warrick knows it, hell, if anyone else had known about the relationship, I’m sure they’d know it too. 

Greg shakes his head, still looking disbelieving, and reaches out to lightly shake him (David feels the thing with feathers flutter even more wildly in his chest), saying, I’m with you, not Nicky, and that’s not going to change. There is a pause, and then he adds with a soft laugh, Idiot. 

Finally, his heart starts to drift back to its rightful place, and after a few desperate swallows of oxygen, David manages a weak laugh of his own, and as his hands cover -- well, more so clutch -- Greg’s and the other man grins, warmly and sweetly, at him, David sees in his mind’s eye a knight stopping in front of a windmill and saluting it with his lance rather than attacking, and the thing in his chest with feathers settles down to perch. 

If you had tried to leave me for Nick, I would’ve kicked your ass, he informs Greg, not surprised at the hoarseness in his voice, and is rewarded by a loud laugh for his blatant lie. All right, maybe not, but your trace and Nick’s would have forever been put at the bottom of my pile. 

And Greg just laughs and presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then makes a face as his beeper goes off. He checks it and makes another face. D.B. at _prom,_ he announces with a shake of his head, and then catches David’s mouth in another kiss, this one lingering and filled with promises of after-shift. Unless you kick me out and change the locks, I ain’t leaving, Greg informs him matter-of-factly, although his eyes are earnest. Just so you know. 

David manages a smirk at that. I’ll keep the locksmith on speed-dial, just in case, he remarks, and is relieved that his voice isn’t as rough as before. As Greg grins and rolls his eyes, he adds, quieter, Nick can come over Friday. 

Greg shoots him a grin that stretches from ear to ear at that, and gives him another quick kiss before declaring he has to get to prom (adding he doubts he’ll get to dance at this one either) and bounding out of the trace lab. 

As the door closes and Greg disappears from sight, David takes in a deep, relieved breath, and laughs shakily, leaning against the counter and shaking his head. He really was an idiot wasn’t he? After all, not all ghosts lingered around causing trouble. Sometimes, after all, they crossed over.   



End file.
